


Scars

by OneShotWonder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 14:04:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7895452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneShotWonder/pseuds/OneShotWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming back from the wendigo hunt in Season 1, Sam starts to notice new scars on his brother and realizes that Dean had been hunting alone for a while before he showed up to take Sam away from Stanford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

Sam first noticed the differences in his brother while driving home from the woods after killing the wendigo.

Both of them were dirty, sore, and exhausted from the fight, and as always Dean was driving the Impala to the nearest cheap motel for them to wash up and sleep for as many days as their father would allow before sending them on another hunt.

It was mid afternoon when Sam woke up from a short few hours of sleep, his neck hurt from the uncomfortable position he had slept in and the whole car smelled like something burning, the residue from having to light the monster up the night before.

“Wake up sleeping beauty, we are here.” Dean slurred, his eyes bloodshot and groggy from lack of sleep, but he smiled happily with the corner of his mouth nonetheless.

Sam knew his brother like no other human on the planet. Other than the two years he had spent at Stanford, Dean and he had spent almost every single day of their lives together. He could read him like a book, and he prided himself on knowing every mark on his brother’s body.

But in that moment Sam noticed the first small difference; on Dean’s right hand, his middle finger was slightly bent to the left, like it had been broken and not healed properly. It was so subtle, Sam couldn’t believe he had noticed at all, but there is was; a glaring reminder of the fact they had been separated for too long, for the brother he knew to be somehow, just a bit different.

He didn’t have time to mull over the thought as Dean threw him his backpack, “I will check us in, you look like hell.” Dean shuffled out of the car and walked the short distance to the entrance. Sam snorted, Dean must have looked just as bad as he did. They sported cuts on their faces and they were covered in a layer of dirt from the "camping trip."

While Dean checked them into the hotel Sam riffled through his bag to make sure he had clean clothes to change into. He hadn’t had much when Dean pulled him out of the fire that torched his dorm room, his girlfriend, and his future as something other than his father. Most of the clothing he owned had been bought on the road between jobs, these wild goose chases that their Dad kept sending them on, getting no closer to finding him, or answers. Sam was just barely holding it together most days, and waking up dirty, smelly, and in pain in the Impala wasn’t helping his mood much. He wanted to wallow down to the deepest hole he could find. He wanted to cry until he couldn’t breathe. He wanted lay down and die.

But the slow fire in his belly that he had rejected his whole life seemed to consume him after Jessica’s death. He could feel it driving him, pushing him forward toward his only goal in the world. _Revenge_.

He finally felt connected with their father after years of head-butting. He understood now, the loss could have taken them both out, but that _need_ to find the thing that extinguished the light in their lives, that is what they lived for now.

Sam felt hot tears in his eyes as he gripped the bag tight, but refused to let them fall. Trapped in his thoughts, he jumped when Dean knocked on the window and shook the motel room keys at him silently; eyes full of knowing sympathy. Sam knew Dean better than anyone in the world, but sometimes he forgot that Dean knew him just as well.

His older brother knew he was hurting, and as much as he joked and played like nothing was wrong, at times like this, when Sam saw the pity on his brother’s face, they both understood. Dean knew that Sam needed him to be normal, needed for him to keep moving, needed for him to just continue to be his big brother. So he did; he didn’t mention Jess unless Sam wanted to talk about it, he gave him space and plenty of time without seeming too distant. It was comforting, it was business as usual.

Sam gave his brother a crooked smile of thanks and groaned his way out of the car with a few creaky bones. Dean patted him on the back and a small cloud of dirt floated off of him.

“Damn you better not have gotten any of this in my car!” he said it with a smile, then peered into the Impala with a frown. The leather seats were covered in dirt, dust, and a few specks of blood.

“Rock, paper scissors for the shower?” And then he chose scissors, like always, so Sam could shower first. It was comforting that even after two years apart, that small routine stayed the same.

Sam showered quickly to try and leave a bit of the hot water for his brother, scrubbing the dirt and grime and a bit of blood out of his hair. He then changed into some clean clothes and pulled his laptop out from his bag. He sat on top of the scratchy motel blanket and tried to return a few e-mails from college friends. Dean’s shower was just as quick, Sam guessed it was because of the aforementioned hot water, and he stepped into the room to grab his bag and fish out some clean-ish clothing.

That is when Sam noticed all the other changes on his brother’s body.

He was wearing just the small hotel towel wrapped around his waist and it barely covered him to mid-thigh. Dean always took the bed closest to the door so he had to pass by Sam’s bed to get to his; he started to rummage through his bag laid out on the cheap bedspread.

Even in the dim hotel room, lit by only one lamp light, Sam could see all the new scars.

“Holy Shit Dean!” He said the words with a sucked in breath before he could catch himself. Dean pulled the gun out of his bag in one swift motion and cocked the barrel.

“What is it?” His voice was calm and he pointed the gun at the door of the hotel room where he though Sam was staring, his hands steady.

“No, nothing, god man sorry, it‘s just…those scars. They are…new.”

“Dammit Sammy, don’t fucking scare me like that.” He shook his head and breathed out a sigh of relief. His hands moved swiftly as the gun clicked metal a few times and then went back into his bag with a thud. He adjusted the towel around his waist and looked away.

“It’s the job, man, nothing new.” He said with a flat voice.

“That. Dean, that looks like a surgery scar, and are those claw marks?”

Sam pointed and when Dean turned slightly toward him into the light Sam could see more scars on his brothers body.

Most of them were recognizable, the scraped knees, the three inch cut over his left shoulder from their first hunt together; the burn on his upper arm and slight, white scratch marks on his chest from a poltergeist three or four years ago; the light colored gash on his head from a nasty fight with a werewolf.

But the new ones were more shocking. Dean had long claw marks that went from his collarbone down to his navel on one side. He had an obvious surgery scar on the other side, and a scrape down his back that looked like he was dragged across gravel. He even noticed a thin line wrapping around one of Dean’s wrists and a bullet wound on his thigh. They were all in various stages of healing, but didn’t look very old at all.

Sam knew that he had been hunting without their Dad for a few weeks, maybe even months now, but he didn’t put together how much danger Dean had been in without a partner.

Sam’s heart sank.

He was alone.

All this happened to him while alone.

Sam was off at school, Dad was away somewhere on an unknown mission, missing, maybe even dead. But Dean had still done his job; he still put himself at risk everyday to hunt things, to save people. Sam couldn’t imagine what he had been through and felt a stab of guilt when he realized that he had been so consumed with his own life, with his own grief, that he didn’t even ask how his brother had been. And if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t care at the time, he didn’t want to know, which made it hurt all the more in this moment. Dean had been alone.

“Eh, who needs a gallbladder anyway?” Dean broke the silence with smirk and a shrug of his shoulders. Deflecting with a joke like he always did. But Sam could see no humor in his eyes. He slipped on boxers and jeans and then a plain black t-shirt a little too swiftly, avoiding Sam’s gaze.

 


End file.
